


Citrus

by 16pennies



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Star Trek Secret Santa, Star Trek Secret Santa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16pennies/pseuds/16pennies
Summary: {Star Trek Secret Santa 2017}The very best-case scenario meant he still had sixteen hours of being trapped here, alone on this godforsaken stone beach with his captain who, he could begrudgingly admit to himself, he was at least mildly infatuated with.





	Citrus

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Star Trek Secret Santa challenge on tumblr. The request: Janeway and Paris marooned somewhere. It was an interesting challenge to write for Tom; I hope I got his voice right.
> 
> Happy New Year!!!

            No simulation quite adequately captured the experience of hurtling toward the ground. For all his bluster and charisma, Tom couldn’t help the knot of nausea tightening in his gut as the surface of the planet grew exponentially larger in the viewscreen, shades of green and grey and white smearing together in a dizzying swirl. Well, as charming as he was sure this continent must be, Tom had no interest in paying a visit. Clenching his jaw, he redoubled his efforts to pull the shuttle out of its nosedive into the atmosphere.

            “Inertial dampeners failing!”

            “I think I can bring them b—”

            “Don’t bother, Tom,” Captain Janeway grunted as the shuttle’s turbulence nearly threw her from her seat. “Impulse engines?”

            “Offline.”

            “Thrusters?”

            “At 73% and falling.”

            “Well,” Janeway remarked casually as more alarms began to wail and the shuttle pitched nauseatingly to the left. “I certainly hope you weren’t exaggerating your piloting skills, Mr. Paris, because we could certainly use some of your fancy flying about now!”

            “Yes, ma’am!” They were in the atmosphere now and the force was almost unbearable; his legs cramped from keeping him in his seat. “Activate forward thrusters at forty-two degrees—that should stabilise us enough to land—”

            “Activating forward thrusters.”

            Tom grit his teeth as the nose pulled up in fits and starts, the turbulence nearly forcing his hands onto controls he didn’t dare press. The planet’s surface looked so much closer now; he could make out forests and rivers and silvery cliffs on the horizon. Altogether a rather unattractive selection of potential landing sites, but basic sensors still seemed to be functional and if the atmosphere wasn’t too dense he might be able to coast them to a safer—

            “There’s a beach around three hundred kilometres ahead. I think that’s our best bet, captain.”

            “Whatever you say, Tom, but you have less than two minutes before all thrusters fail!”

            “Good to know. Adjusting course—”

            The shuttle reluctantly curved to the left and Tom held his breath as he did everything in his power to keep the craft aloft, each passing second bringing it dangerously nearer to the tops of the alien trees below. But then the beach was in sight, a gradient of muted greys and blues and no, the stones didn’t look particularly comfortable for a shuttle but it was better than ending up skewered by a tree trunk. The forward thruster sputtered, jolting the shuttle at odd angles and forcing his stomach into the region of his sinuses but Tom would be damned if he messed this one up. He wouldn’t be able to bear eternity in the afterlife with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to save his captain.

            “Activating landing thrusters!”

            The tip of a tree skimmed the belly of the shuttle as Tom tried to lift the nose one last time, just enough to get them to the flat patch of the stone beach, and he found himself hoping that the geology of this planet didn’t include any elements which would react badly with the makeup of the shuttle.

            “Brace yourself!”

            The point of impact was wrong, too far forward along the underside of the shuttle. Tom felt the force of it try to pull him out of his seat, but he groaned and held on to the panel as the ground reverberated and shook apart, the metal of the thing shrieking as stones tore into the fuselage. He couldn’t believe they were still moving, and surely they were getting nearer to the boulders further inland, or maybe he’d got the direction wrong and they were actually racing towards the sea—

            A sharp, horrible pain in his ribs and then the only thing Tom could think about was getting air back into his lungs. By the time he gasped in a breath, the shuttle had stilled.

            Tom breathed. It hurt, but it meant he was still alive which was honestly more than he expected. Slowly, he pressed himself up so his face was no longer planted in the control panel. It took a moment to coordinate the limbs necessary to sitting up but he was pleasantly surprised to find all his body parts still attached to him and mostly functional.

            His rib really did hurt, right above his waist on the right side. Tom gently prodded it and hissed at the pain. But he could move, and it didn’t feel like one of the many times he’d broken his ribs before, so he elected to ignore it as he stood on shaking legs.

            The captain’s seat was empty and for a moment he couldn’t breathe again. Then his ears caught up with him, and he realised the slight moaning was coming from Janeway, who lay on the floor beside the co-pilot’s chair.

            “Captain!” Tom moved around the chair and tried to ignore the pain in his side as he knelt by Janeway’s head. Her hair was a mess and something had cut her cheek, but he was most disturbed by the blank, wide-eyed confusion on her face. “Captain, are you alright?” He reached out to touch her but couldn’t figure out where and ended up awkwardly hovering his hands above her on the floor.

            She drew a ragged breath, not unlike Tom had done, and he was relieved to see her eyes focus on his face. “I’m—oh,” she grimaced in apparent pain, then took a careful breath. “I’m alright. Just a little winded, I think.” She breathed again, seeming to take inventory of herself. Opening her eyes, she focused on him with such clarity that Tom was almost winded himself. “How are you?”

            “Don’t worry about me, captain.”

            “I always worry about you,” Janeway scoffed. Tom did his best to help her sit up. He watched as she blinked and tried to sort out her hair, and for a moment he just sat there wondering how to be useful.

            “Here, there should be a medkit somewhere, let me go find it.” Tom clumsily got to his feet and cautiously moved to the back of the cockpit, barely taking in the destruction around him. There, the panel was still intact, and he was able to easily take the emergency kit into his hands. He could feel his senses slowly returning, his tunnel vision gradually expanding and the smell of singed duranium creeping into his brain.

            Tom awkwardly knelt beside his captain and unfolded the medical tricorder. “Any nausea, dizziness?”

            “Nothing unbearable.”

            “You have a mild concussion.”

            “I’ve had worse.”

            “I don’t doubt it,” Tom started digging through the few basic treatments in the kit. “But I didn’t spend months in the Doctor’s company for nothing. Here,” He pressed a hypo to her neck and nearly lost his mind at the euphoric relief the pain reliever brought to her face. Seeing her every day, it was easy to get used to the constant stress and worry that she wore in her expression, the creases between her brows and the weight of the frown which tugged at her lips. Now, in the brief moment the tripdecederine took all that away, Janeway looked more… serene than Tom had ever seen her, like she was asleep, or—

            His hand froze against her neck—how hadn’t he noticed he was tracing the skin there?—and he made an executive decision to limit physical contact as much as possible, since clearly the shock of crashing had gone to his head—

            “Ah!”

            “Shit, captain—” Tom tried to pull his fist free from the massive knot of hair it had got stuck in but it only brought Janeway’s head with him and she hissed at the sting of it. Her hand shot up and held his wrist firmly, trapping his fingers at the nape of her neck before he could do any more damage. Which was fine, really, except now he couldn’t feel anything except how soft the strands of her hair felt around his fingertips and the warmth radiating from her nearby skin.

            “Sorry, ma’am,” he said with an unexpectedly dry mouth.

            Janeway chuckled as her fingers crept to Tom’s hand and gently coaxed her hair from around his digits. “At ease, lieutenant.” She shifted, drawing Tom closer in her effort to disentangle him. He swallowed thickly. “You aren’t the first unsuspecting victim of my hair, I’m afraid.” Chuckling again, she freed Tom’s hand. It bounced dumbly off her shoulder as he let it drop.

            The captain swept her hair over her shoulder and brushed down her uniform. “Now, lieutenant. Status report.”

            “Right. Um, well, we landed.”

            “I gathered as much.”

            Ignoring the overwhelming feeling of idiocy, Tom cast a glance around the shuttle. “Well, all systems appear to be offline. That would mean replicators, communicators, propulsion…”

            “So what you’re saying, Mr. Paris, is that we’re… stuck.”

            Tom hoped that Janeway felt as amused as she looked and berated his brain for choosing now, of all times, to be incompetent.

            “Yes, ma’am. We’re stuck.”

            “Well, I’m glad we’ve established that, at least.” She straightened and reached for the seat next to her to pull herself up and Tom, for lack of something to do, put the few things back into the medkit. “Now, I want you to see if the emergency distress beacon survived the crash. I don’t think my knee can—”

            “Your knee? You should’ve said something! Let me take a lo—”

            “It’s nothing, lieutenant.” Tom didn’t believe that for a second, not by the way she had to carefully pull herself onto the seat and the way she held her right leg carefully extended. He was tempted to just grab it and examine the joint himself, but held back.

“Whatever you say, captain,” and Tom found himself once again pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the back of the shuttle. “Now, the emergency transmitter…”

~*~

            The air was refreshingly damp, like a tropical beach on Earth, but rather than smelling of salt, Tom had the impression that he was inhaling fruit juice. He couldn’t imagine what possible combination of elements would make the planet smell like citrus. Was it in the water, or the rocks? It wasn’t too bad, for now, but he could see how it might become nauseating after a while. Tom cast a glance at the emergency transmitter perched atop the carcass of the shuttle and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

            God, B’Elanna was going to _kill_ him. The craft was a mess; all blackened edges and dented metal. One of the warp nacelles had somehow twisted itself so it was nearly perpendicular to its twin. If the engines hadn’t been disabled, their molecules would currently be drifting through the Delta Quadrant, propelled by the inertia of a rather spectacular core breach. Tom allowed himself a moment of pride for getting the shuttle and its passengers on the ground in one piece, even if said ground smelled like oranges.

            Tom’s eyes drifted to the hatch they had managed to force open. It had taken a severe beating, but once they had broken the seal it had lifted fairly easily and they hadn’t bothered to close it in case they couldn’t pry it open again. Captain Janeway sat there now, right leg delicately propped on the stony ground and her head tilted to the sky. She must’ve undone her hair, or maybe it had disassembled by itself; it hung freely over her shoulders, occasionally shifting in the ocean breeze. Her eyes were closed, and Tom gave himself permission to stare.

            It was so much easier on the bridge. He didn’t have to _see_ her on the bridge. Hearing her voice move behind him as she wandered from her chair to the science station to her ready room. Holding his breath when she would lay an encouraging hand on his shoulder. Pressing his lips together whenever she would forget protocol and call him _Tom_.

            He had learned to handle all that. But clearly he’d taken the relative privacy afforded by his station at the helm for granted. Because this, _this_ was unbearable. And if her calculations were right, the very best-case scenario meant he still had sixteen hours of being trapped here, alone on this godforsaken stone beach with his captain who, he could begrudgingly admit to himself, he was at least mildly infatuated with.

            Janeway reached up a hand to brush hair off her face and Tom pulled his eyes away so quickly it nearly made him dizzy. Turning, he stared out at the purple ocean and hoped he looked casual, just in case the captain opened her eyes. Blue eyes. He’d known this, but when he’d had an arm around her waist and one of hers over his shoulder to help her out the shuttle, he’d been able to fully appreciate just how clear her irises were. Like a sea—not the purple one he stood before, but one of the sparkling oceans of Earth.

            Dammit. Damn her knee and the torn ligament inside it and damn him for not paying enough attention when the EMH had tried to teach him what to do with joint injuries. He could still feel the warmth of her waist against his palm, the way her hipbone had jutted his thigh as she took uneven steps.

            Sixteen hours. He was doomed.

~*~

            “And people say we Starfleet captains never get to put our feet up.”

            Tom huffed a laugh as he pushed the small boulder a few centimetres closer to the shuttle, taking care not to dislodge Janeway’s leg atop it. “There you go,” he tapped the rock to make sure it wouldn’t move. “I might be able to make an ice pack out of something. Should help relieve the swelling.”

            “That’s alright, Tom; this will do nicely. Now all I need is a novel and good drink and it’ll be a proper vacation.”

            Tom chuckled and stood to dust gravelly sand from his uniform. “Don’t know about the drink, but how do you feel about Starfleet emergency rations?”

            “Even better!”

            Janeway’s smile followed Tom into the shuttle as he retrieved the emergency supplies. Half a dozen rations, some water, and blankets. Plenty, assuming Voyager didn’t take much longer than forty-eight hours to come retrieve them. And for now, Tom was perfectly content to assume that they would be here well before then.

            He deposited the blanket beside Captain Janeway and handed her a ration.

            “Thank you. Here, come sit with me,” and she scooted over a little to make room for him on the shuttle’s threshold. Tom sat, wincing a little as the motion made his rib twinge, and did his best to maintain a semblance of professional distance. Before he could unwrap his ration, Janeway reached over and tapped her own bar against his in his hand. “Bon appétit,” she grinned, and Tom couldn’t help but grin back.

            The smile rapidly disappeared as soon as he bit into Starfleet’s shameful excuse for food. It had the consistency of stale bread and one of Tom’s fellow inmates in New Zealand had described the taste as “a severely under ripe banana rolled in sand.” One would think that eating so many would make him accustomed to the taste, but Tom only found it grew worse with time.

            It nearly made him miss Leola root.

            Tom squinted at the sky as he chewed, watching the sun begin to sink into the ocean. The purple horizon sparkled quite beautifully, he thought, and the colours it produced against the clouds were on par with the most brilliant Earth sunsets.

            “Since I don’t have that novel, Mr. Paris, perhaps you could tell me a story.”

            Tom nearly choked. “A story?”

            Captain Janeway hummed. “Yes. I’m sure you must have many interesting ones to tell.” She put her half-eaten ration in her lap and levelled her gaze at him. “After all, how on Earth do you keep Ensign Kim so enthralled?”

            The wrapper in Tom’s hands suddenly became incredibly fascinating. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am.”

            “What, not even some wild tale from your Academy days?”

            “Nothing fit to tell a commanding officer, that’s for sure.”

            Janeway laughed, a full laugh which flashed her teeth and drew radiating lines around her eyes. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

            The wrapper crinkled in Tom’s fist as he tried to see how small he could make it, compacting it between his palms as he watched the sun set. He hoped the ambient temperature wouldn’t drop too severely as the night went on, although he supposed he could probably find some material for a fire if the need arose. But with any luck, Voyager would collect them before daybreak.

            Tom leaned his head against the side of the hatch and settled in to wait.

~*~

            A pained cry, followed by a hissed, “Oh, shit,” and Tom almost thought he was dreaming until he felt a sharp kick to his shin. He opened his eyes, finding himself in total darkness but apparently flat on his back in the shuttle. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

            Looking through the open hatchway, he saw the captain’s silhouette, hunched over and muttering. It took a few moments more for his pupils to register the light from the three moons, the way it bathed the beach in warm hues and illuminated Janeway’s expression.

            “Sorry to wake you, Tom. Go back to sleep.”

            “No—no, it’s fine,” Tom shook his head as though that would help him wake up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, anyway. Something wrong?”

            Captain Janeway grimaced. “I was hoping you had some more of that anaesthetic hiding somewhere.”

            Of course, it would have worn off after six hours, and who knew how long he’d been asleep? Dammit, why couldn’t he—“Ah,” Tom pressed a hand to the rib he’d forgotten was—well, whatever it was. He’d tried to stand up too hastily. Dammit _again_.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Doesn’t look like nothing to me, lieutenant. Now go get that medkit; we’ll fix my leg and then we’ll fix you. That’s an order.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Gritting his teeth, Tom (slowly) got to his feet and ventured back into the darkness of the shuttle. The medkit sat where he’d left it on the pilot’s seat and after a few moments of awkwardly lowering himself back to the ground, he was able to administer the necessary hypo to Janeway’s offered throat. She’d stripped her uniform jacket while he was asleep. Tom tried not to notice.

            The hiss of the hypo was followed by a blissful sigh as the pain relief took effect, and Tom pressed his lips together as he stared.

“Now, hand me that medical tricorder.”

            Tom did.

            He had no idea how much medical training the captain had; presumably not as much as he did, considering he’d been the ship's unofficial nurse. But Janeway seemed to know what she was doing as she narrowed the scan to his right side and bit her lip at the readouts.

            After a moment, she folded the tricorder with a snap. “Good job. You’ve broken it.”

            “No way. It doesn’t _hurt_ enough to be broken.”

            Janeway was already elbow-deep in the medkit. “Tell that to the tricorder. There’s a bone knitter in here somewhere. Shirt off, lieutenant.”

            For a moment Tom just sat there, blindly watching his captain rummage through the little emergency kit and tossing out things he hadn’t even noticed were in there.

            She looked up at him, her hair falling around her face. Had she found a hairbrush? It looked so nice.

            “That was an order, Mr. Paris. Shirt. _Off_.”

            Tom blinked. “Right.” It was lucky this planet was so balmy, even at night; he didn’t feel a chill at all as he unzipped his jacket and tossed it somewhere into the shuttle. The turtleneck followed, and then the singlet. Tom wondered whether his whole body was blushing or if the air really was that warm.

            Janeway pulled herself out of the medkit, bone knitter in hand and Tom knew this time he was definitely flushing as the captain’s eyes surveyed his bare torso. Purely for medical purposes, of course. _Of course_.

            She crept nearer, and Tom made an executive decision to postpone breathing until further notice. He couldn’t fathom why she was taking so long, but when he felt her fingertips gently land on his skin he really wished for more oxygen in his blood. Gooseflesh rose around the discoloured bruise she probed, and when a nail lightly scraped against his side, he couldn’t hold out any longer and sucked in a gasping breath.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

            “You’re fine! Didn’t hurt at all.”

            Tom didn’t know why they were whispering.

            Tentatively, Janeway traced the outline of the purple blotch again before activating the bone knitter and slowly waving it back and forth across the injury. Tom frowned at the uncomfortable twinge of bone healing itself and then froze completely when he felt Janeway’s other hand come up and rest on his side, curve around his good ribs. For a moment, she just lingered there, as though she were using him to balance, but then her fingers started moving in gentle circles, minute caresses and Tom nearly went cross-eyed. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, like the way she was biting her lip in concentration, but that just made it all so much _worse_ so he closed his eyes and pressed his lips together and hoped it would all be over soon.

            But then it _was_ over and it was _too_ soon because the instant her hands were gone he wished they had never left. Tom opened his eyes and saw her unfolding the medical tricorder, scanning her handiwork. Obediently, he held still and waited and wondered whether he’d given her too many painkillers because there was no way she should be able to sit like that without pain in her knee, even with the hypospray.

            “Well, lieutenant, I do believe you’re cured. How do you feel?”

            Tom experimentally twisted his torso and found no pain. “Good as new. You might replace me as ship’s nurse.”

            “We’ll see about that,” Janeway chuckled. “Now, let me see if I can get rid of the bruising. Hold still.” And then she was on him again, her nose inches away from his skin as she worked a new device over him.

            Tom held his breath, this time so he wouldn’t disturb her work. Her hair splashed across his abdomen, tickling at his flesh. He wondered what she would do if he brushed it behind her ear.

            But then she pulled away again, enough for her to observe the now pale pink spot where the bruise had been. Tom felt her fingertips delicately prod at him there. “Any pain?”

            “Nope.”

            Janeway smiled. “Maybe I will come for your job, after all.”

            “Nah, a _real_ nurse would give me a kiss and a lollipop for my troubles.”

            Tom heard his voice say the words and wondered if it was too late to inhale them back into his lungs. But Janeway merely looked into his wide, horrified eyes with a playful smirk on her lips.

            “Well, I don’t know if the medkit has any emergency sweets, but I think I can handle the other thing—” and then her smiling lips were against his abdomen, brushing the spot where the bruise had been, before she pulled away.

            Tom spluttered, choked, “Y-you didn’t have to do that,” and tried to cover the sound of his heart beating frantically in his ears with a laugh.

            “Nonsense; it’s my duty as a nurse. And I don’t think it quite did the job.”

            And Janeway was moving even closer, standing on her knees—how was she able to do _that_?—and a hand was on Tom’s jaw and those lips were on his cheekbone now. Her lips were dry and scratched at his skin a little but he didn’t care; as far as he was concerned, she could slap him across the face and he would thank her for the honour.

            She moved away, humming pensively, and Tom tried to breathe a little before he passed out from oxygen deprivation. He wasn’t sure what brought this on, whether something in the fruit-scented air had eradicated all their inhibitions and carefully structured fraternisation protocols, or maybe Janeway knew something he didn’t and they had only minutes left to live or—

            Janeway leaned in again but this time her lips landed on his and Tom would have yelped if he didn’t think it would scare her away. But she did pull back and that wouldn’t do, not at all, so Tom threw all caution to the citrusy wind and curled a hand around her head, burying his fingers in her hair deliberately this time, and it was all the encouragement she needed to kiss him again.

            Tom was almost ashamed to say he’d imagined this before. More times than he could count, from the moment he first saw her in the bright New Zealand sun. “Stranded on a planet and in various states of injury” had probably not featured in any of his fantasies, but he’d take it. Especially if it meant he could feel the firm insistence of her lips and the bite of her nails in his deltoid as he traced her lips with his tongue.

            His name, breathed against his own lips before she moved her hand to tug at his hair as relentlessly as he was tugging at hers and Tom knew that the scent of oranges would never be the same.

~*~

            “Tom!”

            He felt his body respond before his brain did, limbs spasming in disorganised response. For a moment, he was certain he must be falling, but his eyes opened in time for him to realise he was seated on the edge of the shuttle’s floor, legs extending onto the planet’s ground. Still dark, but the air felt heavy, like it was about to rain, and the smell was so much stronger—

            Tom could taste it as surely as he could Janeway’s lips a moment ago. He must’ve fallen asleep again. And dressed himself. God, what had happened after—?

            “Sorry to wake you, Mr. Paris, but I thought you might like to know that our rescue party will be arriving shortly.”

            All Tom could bring himself to say was, “Oh,” as his brain wildly tried to put together puzzle pieces that just won’t fit. He turned to her, ready to see the regret and rejection in her eyes, when he was stopped short by a sharp throbbing on his right side. Gasping, he pressed a hand against his busted rib to dull the pain and wondered if he could do the same to his heart.

            “Tom?”

            “It’s nothing.” _I’m just a fucking_ idiot _._

            “I don’t believe that for a second. Looks like they’ll be beaming both of us to sick bay.”

            “Whatever you say, captain.” He watched as she clumsily tried to readjust her injured leg and focused on reacquainting himself with reality, where his commanding officer was disabled and professionally distant and not miraculously healing broken bones to climb into his lap—

            “ _Chakotay to Captain Janeway_.”

            Tom swallowed.

            “Janeway here.”

            It was better this way.

            “ _We’ve entered orbit, captain. We’re ready to beam you out on your order._ ”

            The… alternative wouldn’t be sustainable, anyway.

            “Glad to hear it, commander. I think Lieutenant Paris and I would both appreciate the direct route to sick bay, if you wouldn’t mind.”

            She wouldn’t break those rules. Not like that, not for him. And not out here.

            “Have B’Elanna come down with a team and see if the shuttle can be saved. If not, have her salvage it for parts.”

            But did she really kiss like _that_?

            “ _She’s already on her way._ ”

            Would she sigh against his lips, tug him nearer until there weren’t any molecules left between them?

            “Very well, commander. Energise when ready.”

            Captain Janeway looked at him, all exhausted relief and, as he felt himself begin to dissolve, as he watched her smile disintegrate into a stream of energy and data, he thought that maybe he would be okay with never knowing.


End file.
